Dragon Herald
by Mystica
Summary: (Valdemar.Harry Potter) The Heralds of Valdemar needed a savior for their world - and just at the time that Draco Malfoy needed to be saved. Chosen by a Companion and snatched to Valdemar, Draco learns what it really means to be a Slytherin... and a Heral
1. The Consequences of Ideas

The Dragon Herald

Author's Note: This is a crossover between Harry Potter and the Heralds of Valdemar. The story starts in the summer before Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts, and about eleven years after the mage storms in Valdemar (though I might be a year or two off on that part.)

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and ideas belong to J. K. Rowling, while all Valdemar characters and ideas belong to Mercedes Lackey. I own neither.

This story has been reposted without all those pesky Evil Quotes of Doom, in accordance with ffnet's new law.

**Chapter 1 – The Consequences of Ideas**

Draco was starting to think that this whole Death Eater business was a bad idea.

No, actually, that was wrong – he _knew_ it was a bad idea. That was why he'd made up his mind that no matter what his father threatened him with, there was no way he was swearing his life and loyalty to a psychotic snake-man who had a reputation for killing his followers for fun. Agreeing with Voldemort's cause was one thing. Draco was not too keen on Muggles and Muggleborn wizards, but he felt that destroying all nonmagic folk might be a bit extreme. And knowing what he did of the Dark Lord's opinion of dissent in the ranks, Draco had figured it would be better for all concerned if he just sat this fight out as a neutral party.

So that part he'd been all right with. The bad idea had been the part where he'd explained his reasoning to his father. As it had turned out, Lucius Malfoy had been counting on his son's initiation into the Death Eaters to boost his own status. He had not been pleased with Draco's attempts at logic, and as it turned out, had gone ahead and arranged for Draco's induction to the Death Eater fold despite his son's wishes.

Draco, of course, had not been informed of these plans until he touched the Portkey that teleported him to the ceremony. And that was where he was when he realized exactly how bad of an idea his thoughts on Death Eaters could be.

"So the youngest Malfoy comes to join me at last." Voldemort looked down at Draco with a cold smile, red eyes unblinking in his snake-like face.

"Um… yes." Draco glanced uncomfortably around at the surrounding Death Eaters, identical in their long hooded robes. He wondered which one was his father – and then he wondered if it would matter. "About that. I wasn't really expecting to be brought here just now to join up. I don't suppose there's any way I could have some time to get prepared? A few days or so?"

"No preparation is necessary on your part," Voldemort told him, those unsettling red eyes raking across Draco's face. "All has been arranged. You need only swear yourself to me. Unless, of course," he added dangerously, "you do not wish to do so. Are you looking for a way out, boy? Because that can be arranged much more easily than an initiation."

"No, sir," Draco said quickly. He knew exactly what happened to those who turned down a place in the Dark Lord's ranks. It wasn't pretty. "I'm just – just a bit nervous. This is an important occasion, you know."

"Yes," Voldemort said softly. "I do know, indeed." His eyes gripped Draco's in their glare, searing into his brain to peer at his soul. Draco fought the urge to squirm under that gaze, wishing with all his might that he were somewhere else – anywhere, as long as it wasn't there. He should have visited his cousins in France this summer, like his mother had wanted him to. Then he wouldn't be here, being forced into an initiation he didn't want.

"Ahh," Voldemort breathed. Draco froze. What was that? Why was the Dark Lord staring at him that way? Draco was getting the feeling that there had been a test somewhere in the past couple minutes, and that he'd failed it very badly.

Voldemort rose from his throne, towering over Draco and the Death Eaters. "It appears that young Mr. Malfoy does not wish to join our ranks, after all," he said, smiling grimly. "A pity, Lucius – you assured me your son had great potential. I'm afraid you won't get to see it fulfilled."  
Draco saw it coming, saw the Dark Lord raise his wand to utter a curse. He scrambled to pull his own wand from his pocket, but he knew he'd never make it in time. He wondered briefly if it would simply be the Killing Curse, which was at least a clean death, supposedly painless, or if the Dark Lord would choose something to make more of an impression on other potential Death Eaters. He was afraid it would be the latter.

And then – to the left – through a doorway, a huge, closed doorway – a flash of light drew everyone's attention, everyone's eyes long enough for Draco to turn and bolt in the other direction, for the doors on the other end of the room. He heard crashes behind him, and shouts, as he ducked through the mass of Death Eaters, but he knew better than to try to turn around while escaping. He reached the door and snatched desperately at the handle. It was locked.

Draco pulled out his wand and whispered, "_Alohomora_," hoping he wouldn't draw anyone's attention. Fortunately, he didn't. Unfortunately, that was because the spell had no effect.

Giving the door handle one last tug, on the off chance it might come loose with physical force, Draco stepped back to try blasting the door open – and stepped right into another Death Eater.

"I don't think so, Draco." Draco recognized his father's voice, he even recognized the way Lucius gripped him by both arms. "I don't know what you did back there to upset the Master, but you're going to go back and prove to him you're a worthy candidate. I've worked too long to get back in his good graces to have you ruin everything for me now."

Draco knew it was futile to twist in this grip, but he tried anyway. He knew that this was one test where there were no second chances. If he got near Voldemort again, he would be dead. And, quite understandably, he did not want to die.

Apparently, someone – something? – else had similar feelings on the matter.

A powerful force knocked Draco aside, breaking Lucius's hold on his son. _:Get up, quickly:_ a voice ordered. Draco scrambled to his feet, looking around for the speaker. Instead, a shining white horse presented itself. _:Up! Up now, you twit, before they hit us:_

Draco still couldn't see the woman who was shouting at him, but it was fairly clear what she wanted him to do. And since she seemed to be on his side, at least for now, Draco decided that going along with her plan had to be better than waiting here to get killed. He struggled onto the horse's back, wishing his father hadn't deemed horseback riding too Muggle a skill for his family.

_:About time:_ the unseen woman snapped. _:Now hang on while I get us out of here.:_

Giving Draco just enough time to get his arms securely around his mount's neck, the horse sprang away with incredible speed, towards the door where all the commotion had started. Or at least, the speed seemed incredible to Draco, but for all he knew this was how fast all horses moved. He hoped he wasn't going to be expected to help fend off attacks, because it was all he could do to hang on to his ride.

Still, the horse didn't seem to need his help, barreling through the Death Eaters like they were so many paper dolls. She didn't have any qualms about removing wizards from her way with a neatly placed kick or bite, either. Those wizards with the sense to hang back and send curses at Draco from afar found that the horse was moving too rapidly, that she was never in the place that they aimed, and several Death Eaters were suffering from friendly fire by the time the horse brought Draco to the closed doors through which she'd entered.

_:Don't let go:_ the woman ordered, just before the horse plunged forward. There was a sickening jolt, and Draco's stomach seemed to have forgotten to come when they moved, and then – they were elsewhere.

Draco twisted around on the horse's back, expecting to see the Death Eaters chasing after him, but the only thing behind him was the entrance to a small church. Draco blinked. Had he touched a Portkey somehow, without noticing?

Realizing the horse had slowed to a stop, Draco looked at the area in front of him. It was a rather pretty field, full of other horses as white as the one he rode. But they weren't behaving the way normal horses would. Granted, Draco didn't know much about what horses usually did, but he was fairly certain that standing in a large circle staring at him with extremely intelligent eyes was not typical behavior. It was starting to make him nervous. He wished his mysterious rescuer would show herself.

A worrying thought occurred to Draco. Suppose the woman hadn't made it out of the audience chamber with the Death Eaters? The curses had been flying pretty fast there. He was amazed he and the horse had made it out. Much to Draco's astonishment, he felt rather panicky at the idea of his rescuer being left at the hands of the Death Eaters. He didn't usually feel that level of anxiety for anyone but his parents.

_:Stop that. I'm fine.:_ Draco breathed a sigh of relief, hearing the woman's voice again. He twisted around, trying to figure out where she was. Could she be invisible?

_:Of course I'm not invisible. Don't be stupid. Now come down and let me get a good look at you.:_

Draco bristled a bit at being called stupid, but his curiosity about his rescuer was greater than his annoyance. The horse knelt down, allowing him to step off. "Okay, then," he said, once he was on firm ground. "Here I am. Where are you?"

_:Turn around.:_

Draco frowned. He'd thought there was nothing behind him but the horse. Still, figuring that since the woman had rescued him, he might as well humor her, he turned.

And he fell down – down – into a pair of eyes as deep a blue as the early autumn sky. _You_, Draco realized dizzily as he finally recognized the owner of the mysterious voice. _It's you!_

_:Yes, quite:_ she replied – not verbally, as Draco had been assuming, but inside his head. _:I am Orelia. You are Draco. I Choose you.:_

And with those words, feelings overwhelmed Draco – feelings of warmth and love, acceptance and friendship, and most of all, a promise that she would never, never leave him or betray him. And for the first time in his life, Draco realized that it was a promise he was prepared to believe enough to return it.


	2. Making the World a Better Place

The Dragon Herald

Author's Note: This is a crossover between Harry Potter and the Heralds of Valdemar. The story starts in the summer before Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts, and about eleven years after the mage storms in Valdemar (though I might be a year or two off on that part.)

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and ideas belong to J. K. Rowling, while all Valdemar characters and ideas belong to Mercedes Lackey. I own neither.

This story has been reposted without all those pesky Evil Quotes of Doom, in accordance with ffnet's new law.

**Chapter 2 – Making the World a Better Place**

Draco Malfoy was missing, presumed dead.

When this news reached the Burrow, Ron and Ginny looked delighted enough to throw a party, and even Mrs. Weasley said that such things were only to be expected from a family like the Malfoys.

Harry, who was visiting for the final two weeks of summer, was surprised to find himself less than overjoyed. In fact, when he overheard Mr. Weasley expressing his opinion that Draco had been killed in a ceremony involving Voldemort, Harry actually felt a pang of sympathy for his long-time rival.

"Don't you think you should tone down the celebration?" Harry finally snapped at Ron, when he suggested sending a congratulatory bouquet to the Malfoys for the funeral. "I mean, none of us liked him, but he's still dead!"

"What do you want me to do, pretend that I'll miss the evil ferret?" Ron protested. "Admit it, the world's a better place with one less Malfoy in it."

"It wouldn't hurt you to show a little more respect," Harry said. "It could have been one of us that Voldemort killed instead."

That sobered Ron a bit, but not enough for Harry to dare voicing some of the other thoughts he'd been having. If Voldemort had killed Draco – the son of one of his strongest supporters – he had to have had a reason. The Dark Lord did not go around killing his followers for kicks. Muggles or wizards who opposed him, yes, but not his own Death Eaters.

So maybe Draco hadn't been as much of a Death Eater as they'd all assumed. Just because Draco was nasty and parroted his father's prejudices, it didn't necessarily follow that he was a murderer.

It wasn't much of a thought, not when held against six years of malicious behavior, but it was enough to make Harry wonder if he'd misjudged the other boy. He supposed that now, he'd never find out.

……….

The breathless moment in which Draco and Orelia gazed at one another was broken when one of the other horses stepped forward, drawing Draco's eyes away from his horse.

_:Just a note, sweetie:_ Orelia said as Draco turned to face this new, much larger stallion. _:We aren't horses, and we don't much like being confused with them. We're Companions. It's a very different thing. Trust me.:_

"Okay," Draco said, nodding slowly, staring up at the new horse – no, not a horse. "Companions. Right."

_:So this is the Chosen we spent so much power to fetch, Orelia: _The voice Draco heard this time was deeper, a powerful masculine voice that was used to commanding. _:I hope you Chose well. You were not long gone.:_

_:I was gone as long as I needed to be, Rolan: _Orelia said. _:And I'd have been gone even less time, if I could have managed. A hundred grown men, ganging up on a teenage boy! Can you believe it:_

_:All too easily: _Rolan replied grimly. _:A terrible situation, and one you were right to remedy. But you were sent on Search for a mage with the abilities to work magic despite the effects of the mage storms. With an unidentified bloodpath mage taking control of areas along our Rethwellan border, we do not have time for hasty Choices.:_

Draco was having a hard time following this conversation, since he'd never heard of half of what the Companions were talking about, but one thing was coming through loud and clear. This Rolan didn't think Orelia ought to have – what was the word he'd used? – Chosen Draco. Draco supposed it figured. His father had never thought Draco was good enough for much, so why shouldn't the male authority figure here think the same thing? That wasn't what was upsetting him.

"Don't talk to Orelia that way!" Draco snapped, moving protectively between the two Companions. His tone was the same one he used to defend his mother, sharp and dangerous. No one insulted Narcissa Malfoy in front of her son, and no one was going to insult Orelia in front of her Chosen.

Rolan looked down at Draco in surprise, as if seeing the boy for the first time. _:Can you hear me:_

"Of course I can hear you," Draco said acidly. "You're talking in my head, it'd be a bit hard for me to miss it."

_:Well, the boy has Mindspeech, if nothing else:_ Rolan granted. _:And fairly strong, at that, if he was picking up our speech. But really, Orelia, have you looked at him? He hasn't a scrap of the Mage-gift, and that what you went out to find.:_

"If you mean magic, I have so got it," Draco said indignantly. "I'll have you know I come from a very long line of Pureblood witches and wizards that hasn't produced a Squib in generations!"

Rolan stared at Draco, puzzled. _:What is that child talking about:_

"I'm not a child!" Draco said angrily. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here!"

Rolan took another step towards Draco, suspicious. _:Can you still hear me? Your own shields ought to block out a Companion's speech.:_

"Yes, I can hear you!" Draco snapped. "Every single thing you've said about me, I've heard! If you didn't want me to hear it, maybe you should've waited to talk about me till I wasn't standing right in front of you!"

Orelia nudged her nose against Draco's shoulder affectionately. _:Good for you, Chosen:_ she cheered. _:Stand up for yourself.:_

_:Stop encouraging him:_ Rolan ordered. He whuffed out a breath in a horsey sigh. _:We're going to need help with this one.:_

……….

Talia, the Queen's Own Herald, was in the middle of a discussion with Queen Selenay and Myrim, who spoke for the Healers' Circle, when Rolan's summons came. She frowned. Rolan only called her while she was working with the Queen if it was too urgent to wait. She sent back a querying thought, and received a barrage of images – a Gate built by the Companions, a newly-Chosen boy from an unknown place, an argument in the Companions' Field. And with it all came a sense of importance, that she was needed there right _now_.

Talia stood up. "I'm sorry, Selenay, Myrim, but Rolan needs me in the Companions' Field. From what I can tell, it's rather important."

Selenay nodded, having spoken with her Companion even as Rolan sent his thoughts to Talia. "Yes, Caryo says the same thing. I can't make head or tail of what's going on down there, but I agree with them – you're needed. I think Myrim and I can finish up here without you."

Myrim nodded. "Certainly. Go, by all means."

"Thank you," Talia said, smiling. "I'll be back as soon as I can." With that, she left, heading out for the Companion's Field.

When she got there, it wasn't hard for Talia to spot her destination. Every Companion in the Field was gathered in a circle, with Rolan and one other in the center. Talia thought she recognized the other Companion as Orelia, a young mare who hadn't yet Chosen.

Or she hadn't Chosen till now, anyway. When Talia made her way through the crowd of Companions to the center of the circle, she realized there was a boy standing there, beside Orelia. He turned to stare at her in a mixture of shock and dread.

"Hello," Talia said, keeping her voice soft and gentle. The boy looked like he'd been pushed to the point where he'd attack anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way. "My name is Talia. Rolan tells me you've been Chosen."

The boy's eyes darted from Talia to Rolan. "What else did he say?" he asked suspiciously.

"Just that he thought I could help you out here," Talia said. Mentioning Rolan seemed to have been a mistake. Somehow, the boy had already developed an intense dislike for the Monarch's Own Companion. "Why don't you tell me your name, and we can go back to the Collegium?"

The boy took a step back, closer to Orelia. "I'm not going anywhere until someone tells me how I got here," he said stubbornly. "And I'm not leaving Orelia here to be shouted at."  
"Shouted at?" Talia asked, puzzled. Then she made the connection. She sent another questioning thought to Rolan, wishing she could speak mind to mind with him as other Heralds could with their Companions. Rolan sent back the mental equivalent of a shrug. Talia sighed. She supposed this was one of those things the Companions were determined to keep from their Heralds.

Sensing her frustration with him, Rolan sent Talia reassurance that he wouldn't speak to Orelia again until her Chosen had calmed down. It seemed Rolan thought this boy was on the verge of attacking, as well.

"Well, Rolan says he won't say another word to Orelia until we've got you settled," Talia told the boy. "And I'm not sure how you got here, but – "

Talia was interrupted by the approach of several other people. Or, to be exact, several other mages, especially since some of them weren't people at all, in the strictest sense of the word. Elspeth and Darkwind came on foot at a steady trot, while two gryphons, Treyvan and Hydona, flew in from above. The crowd of Companions quickly backed away, not wanting to be in the way while the gryphons landed.

"What's going on here?" Elspeth demanded as soon as she was within earshot. "There was a burst of magic, but there isn't enough magic left after those mage storms for anything like that powerful!" She caught sight of the boy. "And who's he?"

The boy wasn't paying any attention to Elspeth, focusing instead on the much larger and more frightening gryphons. He'd pulled a stick from one of his pockets, and from the way he was pointing it at Hydona Talia was afraid it might be some sort of weapon.

"Why don't you put that down?" Talia suggested, moving slowly towards the boy. "This is Hydona, and that's her mate, Treyvan. They're gryphons."

The boy gave her a withering glare. "I can see that," he snapped.

"All right, then," Talia said soothingly. "Good. Then you know they won't want to hurt you." Talia looked at the others. "He's just been Chosen, but he's a little shocked," she explained. "I think the Companions brought him here through a Gate."

"A Gate?" Darkwind's eyebrows shot up. "I would have sworn that there wouldn't be enough power in these worlds to set up Gates for many years yet."

"What's a Gate?" the boy wanted to know, lowering his stick so it was no longer aimed at Hydona. Talia breathed a small sigh of relief.

"A Gate is a magical portal. Before the mage storms destroyed the flow of magic, we could use Gates to travel between two separate places," Elspeth told him. "And we weren't aware the Companions still had the power to create one." She leveled a glare at Gwena, her own Companion.

"So that's how I got here?" The boy looked from person to person, warily seeking confirmation.

"Sso it would sseem," Hydona said. The boy jumped when the gryphon spoke, apparently having dismissed the gryphons as nothing more than scary-looking animals. "A sstarrtling exsperriencse, even when one knowss what to exspect. I am ssorrry to have added to yourr sshock, youngling."

"Draco," the boy said at last, studying the gryphon intently. "My name's Draco Malfoy."

Hydona inclined her head regally. "It iss a pleassurre to meet you, Drraco Malfoy."

"So…" Draco looked around the Field. "Where exactly am I?"

"The Companions' Field," Talia said. "That's at the Palace, in Haven." Draco looked blank. "In Valdemar," Talia added, a little worried. "Bordering Rethwellan, Karse, Hardorn, and Iftel."

"I've never heard of any of those places," Draco said. "Are you making them up?"

"No, of course not," Talia said, concerned. "Those are the major countries of our land. Where are you from, that you've never heard of them?"

"I'm from Britain," Draco said. "I go to school at Hogwarts, but my parents live in England."

"Where is England?" Darkwind asked.

"In Europe, of course," Draco said, as if it should be obvious.

Talia, Darkwind, and Elspeth exchanged anxious looks. They'd never heard of Draco's home, and it was clear he'd never heard of theirs.

"Gwena!" Elspeth's eyes were narrowed as she turned to glare at her Companion. "What is going on here? Just where did you lot snatch Draco from?" There was a pause while Gwena and Elspeth conferred.

Eventually, Elspeth sighed in a way that told Talia the other woman hadn't been able to pry nearly as much information from her Companion as she would have liked. "All right," Elspeth said. "I think I have the gist of it. The Companions decided to fetch themselves a potential Herald who can do magic without tapping into the leylines. Orelia there is the Companion who got sent to wherever it is Draco comes from – can you believe they don't even know? – and she got him out of a very sticky situation. But," Elspeth gave Draco an apologetic smile, "some of the other Companions, Rolan and Gwena included, seem to think that Orelia should have spent longer looking for a mage."

"I am a mage," Draco said, annoyed. "Or a wizard, anyway. No one's used the word 'mage' since the sixteenth century."

"Are you really?" Talia asked, choosing to ignore the second part of Draco's comment. "Well, then it sounds like the Companions got exactly what they wanted. I don't see any reason for them to be upset with Orelia." She nudged Rolan with her thoughts. He sent reluctant agreement, but added the impression that he was still reserving judgment on Draco's qualifications to be a Herald.

"Hey!" Draco glared at Rolan, outraged. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Talia looked at Draco, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"Didn't you hear what he said about me?" Draco demanded. "He thinks I'm not good enough for – for – whatever it is you people do. He keeps doing that – just talking about me like I can't even hear him!"

"You shouldn't be able to hear him," Elspeth said, startled by this revelation. "The rest of us can only hear our own Companions."

Draco's eyes darted from Elspeth to Talia. Finally, he turned to Orelia. "Is that true?" he asked her. He seemed to receive confirmation. He frowned. "Well, I heard him," he said defiantly.

"No one's questioning that," Talia said quickly. "We're just surprised, that's all."

"May I offer a suggestion, Draco?" Darkwind said. "I wouldn't worry too much about what Rolan says about you. Orelia Chose you, and from what I know of this country's customs, only you and Orelia have any say in what happens to that bond." He bowed slightly to Rolan, then to Talia. "My apologies if I have been tactless," he added, "but I thought that the views of one who was once equally an outsider in Valdemar might be beneficial."

"That is a good point," Talia said. "No matter what the other Companions were trying to do, Draco has been Chosen." She smiled brightly at the boy. "Why don't you come into the Collegium with us? We can get you settled, and explain more about what's going on."

Draco looked back at Orelia, clearly not wanting to leave her, but his Companion nudged him forward. "Okay," he said unenthusiastically. "As long as I can come see Orelia again later."

"Of course you can," Talia assured him. "We wouldn't dream of forcibly separating a Chosen from his Companion."

"Now that the myssterriouss rreleasse of powerr hass been located," Treyvan said, "I think it would be besst if Hydona and I rreturrned to our pupilss. No doubt the young magess fearr that the Palacse iss about to collapsse arround theirr earrss."

"Do you two need to go with them?" Talia asked Elspeth and Darkwind as the gryphons took flight.

"Perhaps we should," Darkwind said. "We have tasks of our own to complete."

"Yes, having to run out here so quickly was very disruptive," Elspeth said, with a sour look at Gwena. "Next time you decide to use huge amounts of magic to fetch a Chosen, some warning would be nice." She looked at Draco. "It was nice to meet you, Draco, and I'll look forward to hearing about your way of casting spells." With that, Elspeth and Darkwind headed in the same direction Treyvan and Hydona had gone.

"Now, then, Draco, let's see about getting you settled," Talia said, leading him towards the Heralds' Collegium. "How much has Orelia told you about the Heralds?"

"Nothing," Draco said, scowling. "No one's told me anything."

"That's normal," Talia told him cheerfully. "I was just as badly off as you are when Rolan brought me here. I thought I was meant to return him to the Collegium."

"Were you?" Draco asked.

"No, of course not," Talia said. "When Companions go out on Search, they're looking for potential Heralds. When they Choose someone, they bring those people back here, to the Heralds' Collegium, where we're all trained."

"Trained as what?" Draco asked. "Heralds? You mean announcers, that sort of thing? Because there's no way I'm doing that."

"No, we have messengers to do that," Talia said. "Heralds are the guardians of peace in Valdemar – we protect the helpless, administer justice, and aid the Queen in whatever way is needed." Talia stopped, realizing Draco had stopped walking a couple paces back. "Is something wrong?"

Draco was staring at her like she'd grown another head. "White hats?" he choked out in horror. "I've been Chosen to join a group of bloody white hats?"

Talia frowned. "I don't understand. What do you mean, 'white hats?' Our uniforms are white – "

"Not that," Draco cut her off. "Do-gooders. Knights in shining armor. Self-sacrificing, noble, pain-in-the-arse Gryffindors! That's what you lot are!"

Talia still didn't recognize some of the phrases Draco used, but she understood his meaning. "Well, yes, you could describe us that way," she said. "Those are the qualities a Companion looks for in a potential Herald – compassion, a willingness to sacrifice for others, a sense of duty, a love for one's people."

"And you ended up with me?" Draco asked incredulously. "Are you insane? I'm not any of those things! Send one of your Companions out after Harry freaking Potter or one of his friends, because this sounds like his battle cry."

"I'm sure Orelia knew what she was doing when she Chose you," Talia said, trying to keep her doubts from creeping into her words. Draco certainly wasn't acting like most of the newly-Chosen, but that could be nothing more than differences between his world and hers. "Not all our Heralds start out serving the good of the people. My friend Skif was a thief before he was Chosen, and he turned out to be a wonderful Herald."

"Who says I want to be a Herald?" Draco said. "I never did. If I were noble and righteous and suicidal I'd have been a Gryffindor. I've spent my whole life trying not to be that sort of person, and now you tell me that's what I've gotten roped into?"

Talia frowned at that. Something about his words didn't feel right to her. She dismissed it to the back of her mind, something to mull over when she had a bit more time. "Well, if you truly don't want to be a Herald, I'm not sure what we can do. I've never heard of a Trainee refusing to be trained, but there may be some precedent a long time ago. If you're truly not suited to being a Herald, Orelia could repudiate you, but there must be a better way to deal with this."

"What do you mean, repudiate me?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Break the bond between Companion and Chosen," Talia explained. "Heralds are Chosen by the Companions. If a Companion thinks that his or her Chosen is no longer capable of being a Herald, he or she can deny the bonding. It's very rare, and very… unpleasant." Talia didn't mention that she'd never heard of a case where both the Companion and the Herald had survived the experience.

"I don't want Orelia hurt," Draco said flatly.

"We'll do our best to make sure that she isn't," Talia said. "And we'll do the same for you, Draco, even if you aren't cut out to be a Herald."

The flash of skepticism in Draco's eyes told Talia more about him than their entire conversation thus far. This young man had been betrayed in the past, so often that he'd come to expect it. She added that to her list of things to think about later.

"But for now," she continued, "you seem to be stuck here. Until you make a decision one way or the other, or at least until the Companions are ready to tell us more about how you got here and where you're from, would you have any objections to joining the other Herald Trainees?"

"Joining them in what?" Draco wanted to know.

"Classes, weapons training, that sort of thing," Talia said. "Spending more time with the Trainees might help you decide if being a Herald is right for you. After all, we don't want any Heralds who are only half-devoted to our cause."

"That might not be too awful," Draco said, considering it. "Better than sitting around all day with nothing to do."

"Exactly," Talia said cheerfully. "Tell you what – I don't really have time to take you all over the Collegium, so I'm going to turn you over to my son, Jemmie. He's about your age, I'm sure you'll get along fine." She noticed Draco was staring at her again. "Yes?"

"You have a son my age?" Draco shook his head in disbelief. "No way."

Talia laughed. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all week," she said. "I'm unfortunately rather older than I look." She thought for a moment. "Let's see – Jemmie should be in weapons training now. I'll take you there, and you can get a feel for what weapons training is like." She grinned. "Hopefully it won't scare you off completely."


	3. Turmoil

The Dragon Herald

Author's Note: This is a crossover between Harry Potter and the Heralds of Valdemar. The story starts in the summer before Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts, and about eleven years after the mage storms in Valdemar (though I might be a year or two off on that part.)

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and ideas belong to J. K. Rowling, while all Valdemar characters and ideas belong to Mercedes Lackey. I own neither.

This story has been reposted without all those pesky Evil Quotes of Doom, in accordance with ffnet's new law.

**Chapter 3 – Turmoil **

Draco wasn't entirely sure what to expect from the "weapons training" Talia kept talking about. His father had always considered weapons that wounded the physical body to be unspeakably Muggle and crude. Malfoys used wands and magic, lies and manipulation. Malfoys did not sully themselves by fighting hand-to-hand with their opponents.

Apparently, the Heralds did not share this view. But Draco was starting to see that the Heralds and the Malfoys didn't share many views at all. He suspected that the acceptability of physical combat would be the least of the differences.

Do-gooders! Draco was still disgusted at that thought. Orelia hadn't mentioned that was what she was Choosing him for. Though he supposed he should have guessed, considering the type of person who'd want to rescue him from Voldemort. Well, he didn't mind being rescued by a bunch of white hats, not if it kept him from being killed, but he thought that demanding that he become one of them was asking a little much in return. Especially when he wasn't their kind of person in the least.

_:Oh, and I suppose you're more of an expert on what makes a Herald than a Companion is, now:_ Orelia asked snippily. Draco jumped, not expecting someone to comment on his private thoughts. _:Rolan did have one good point – I didn't have to Choose you once I got you out of that madhouse. You were the one I wanted.:_

Draco couldn't see why. He didn't fit any of the characteristics of Heralds that Talia had described. And while he'd normally consider himself qualified for any position, he thought that a Herald might be the one thing he shouldn't try.

"Here we are," Talia said cheerfully, ushering Draco into the salle, where weapons training took place. Draco looked around, trying not to seem as fascinated as he was. All around him, males and females were being taught to defend themselves using nothing more than weapons and their bodies. Was this the way Muggles fought? Granted, it would be simple to take out one of these fighters if he used his wand, but that did nothing to detract from the clean beauty and elegance of their movements. Draco fairly itched to try his hand at such a fight, despite his sneaking suspicion that he would probably not be very good at it.

"Let's see, now…" Talia scanned the groups of fighters. "Ah, there. We're in luck – it looks like Jemmie is just finishing up." She wove her way through the salle to where a boy with straw blond hair was being lectured by a man in grey leather. He seemed to have just completed a fight with a pretty brown-haired girl of about the same age.

Spotting Talia, the girl smiled and waved, making her way over to the older woman. "Heyla, Talia!" she greeted cheerfully. "Who's your new friend?"

"This is Draco Malfoy," Talia said. "He's just been Chosen, and he's come from… rather far away. Draco, meet Lyra, Elspeth's younger sister."

"Half sister, really," Lyra corrected. She shrugged at Talia's raised eyebrow. "Well, we ought to be exact about it."

"Mm." Talia unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile. "Well, I thought Jemmie might be able to help Draco get settled in the Collegium. Find him some uniforms, get him a room, that sort of thing."

"You'll sure need uniforms," was Lyra's opinion, taking in Draco's wizard robes. "Why are you wearing a dress?"

"They're robes," Draco snapped. "Everyone wears them where I come from."

"Even men?" Lyra considered this, continuing to eye Draco. "Well, that might not be all bad…"

"What might not be?" The boy, who Draco assumed was Jemmie, came to join them.

"Oh, nothing." Lyra grinned mischievously, causing Jemmie to shoot her an extremely suspicious look.

"I'm glad I caught you, Jemmie," Talia said, ignoring this exchange as only a mother could. "I'd like you to meet Draco Malfoy, our newest Trainee. Draco, this is my son, Jemmie."

"Hello," Jemmie said politely. Draco nodded in response.

"I was hoping you could help Draco find his way around here," Talia said to her son.

Jemmie nodded. "Just let me find someone to take over as cook's helper this evening," he said. He scanned the room a moment, then darted off to talk with a young man cooling off from his fight on the other end of the room.

"So how would you feel about me tagging along with you two?" Lyra asked Draco. "I usually spend that time in the Companions' Field, since Jemmie got himself cooking duty during my free hour, the ungrateful louse." She grinned cheerfully at Talia, who seemed more amused than annoyed by this description of her son. "And anyway, between the two of us, Jemmie and I know this Palace inside and out. We grew up here, you know."

Draco shrugged. "Come if you want to," he said coolly. "I don't care."

Lyra raised her eyebrows. "Well, I'm glad you're so enthusiastic about it."

"Actually," Talia broke into the conversation, "I was hoping you'd join the boys for the tour. I thought meeting you might be good for Draco – a new perspective, perhaps?"

Lyra covered her startled expression with commendable speed, but not before Draco, with both Slytherin and Malfoy reflexes, had spotted it. So this girl was being sent to keep an eye on him? Draco supposed it figured, though he had to give the Heralds points for having at least a bit more sense than the Gryffindors. With the way Dumbledore kept ending up with homicidal maniacs on the Hogwarts payroll, the time-consuming nature of background checks was clearly not an issue.

"I'm free to go," Jemmie announced, returning.

"Turns out I'm coming, too," Lyra said brightly.

Jemmie grinned. "The horror." Lyra kicked his ankle.

"Then I'll leave you three alone," Talia said, smiling. "If you have any problems, just ask me." She headed out.

"So, Draco, where to first?" Jemmie asked.

"If I knew, I wouldn't need your help," Draco pointed out irritably. "Let's just get this over with."

"All right, then," Jemmie said. To Draco's mild surprise, the boy didn't appear insulted by Draco's sharp words. He resolved to try harder. "A room, then clothes, then classes. That's probably the quickest way." He set off at a brisk pace.

"So where are you from?" Lyra asked as they left the salle. "Talia said it was far, and you don't have a Valdemaran accent."

"I'm from Britain," Draco told her coldly. "But don't strain your brain trying to recognize the name – no one seems to know where that is."

"I've never heard of it," Lyra agreed. "It must have taken you ages to get here, even on a Companion."

"Not really," Draco said noncommittally. He got the feeling that telling everyone he met that he'd arrived magically might not be too smart, and he'd already met his daily quota of bad ideas.

"Well, this must be pretty strange for you," Lyra said. "I'm sure you'll adjust, though. Everyone does, after a while."

Draco shrugged. "Whatever."

"You don't like to talk much, do you?" Lyra asked.

"Not to people like you lot," Draco snapped.

"What do you mean, people like us?" Jemmie asked, puzzled. "Valdemarans?"

"Gryffindor types," Draco said, spitting out the words as though they were the vilest insult he knew.

Lyra and Jemmie exchanged glances. "What's a Gryffindor?" Lyra asked curiously.

"Someone too honorable for his own good," Draco snarled, disgust heavy in his words. "Someone who'll take in and protect a complete stranger because it's the Right Thing to do. Anyone who can look at Harry 'The Boy Who Charges Headlong Into Certain Death' Potter and see a decent role model."

"You mean Heralds?" Jemmie stopped dead, staring at Draco in horror. "But you've been Chosen!"

"Well, I didn't ask to be," Draco said angrily. "So here's a tip – don't stress too much about inducting me into your cozy little Round Table set-up, because as soon as someone figures out how to send me home without hurting Orelia, I'm out of here!"

"So you think being Chosen was a mistake?" Lyra asked, frowning.

"Of course it was a mistake, you half-deaf imbecile," Draco shouted. "Have you even listened to a word I've said since you met me? Do I sound like the kind of person you want defending the innocent multitudes? I can't be some champion going around fighting in the name of justice and purity!"

"Not with that attitude you can't," Lyra agreed. "So you want – what?"

Draco stared at her incredulously. Why wasn't she getting angry like Jemmie was? All Lyra was doing was watching him with a strangely intense expression. "It doesn't matter what I want," he said, glaring at her. "I'm stuck in this white knight training center either way. Just get me a room, and you can go back to learning how to fight people like me."

"And what will happen to you if I do?" Lyra wanted to know. "It's not like a Trainee Herald can just pick up and leave. Even if you didn't live so far away, you can't go home."

Draco's biting reply froze in his throat at the way she'd phrased her comment. _You can't go home_. He couldn't go home, could he? Not after what had happened at his initiation. After the way his father had tried to turn him over to Voldemort, even when it was clear the Dark Lord was only interested in killing him, Draco had no illusions about what Lucius would do if he got his hands on his son again. _Bloody hell, I'd have to beg sanctuary from Dumbledore and his pet Gryffs!_

Draco resolutely shoved those thoughts away. Malfoys did not whinge on endlessly about their situations – they did what they had to until the world remade itself to their liking. Don't let your emotions control you; don't let others take command. Never for a moment forget who is the master of the situation. Keep yourself under tight control, and all else will follow.

"I'll go where I like," he said finally.

"I'm sure you will," Lyra agreed. "Where were you thinking of?"

"That's no concern of yours!" Draco snapped. What was the matter with this girl? No matter what he said, she didn't react to it as she should. He decided to fall back on an old Malfoy classic – if you can't beat them, intimidate them into admitting you should have won in the first place. He curled his lip in his best sneer, and drew himself up with all his arrogance. "Either show me to a room, or leave me at once. Your presence grows tiresome."

At that, Lyra and Jemmie both began laughing. Draco blinked. He'd used that tone before, generally on House Elves, and it had never failed to be impressive. Maybe Valdemarans were mentally unstable. What with their little heroes-in-training camp, he wouldn't be surprised.

"You really are from far away," Jemmie said, getting his breath back. "Don't try to outclass a Herald – especially not Lyra or me. We've seen it all before, and trust me, we won't be impressed."

"It was a good sneer, though," Lyra said encouragingly. "The wording needs a lot of work yet, but you've got the sneer down pat."

"Don't you dare patronize me!" Draco snarled. Lyra raised her eyebrows, but her intense expression still didn't change as it should have. All the rage that had been building up inside of Draco since he'd been presented to the Dark Lord centered itself on that girl and the horrible way she was looking at him. "What the fuck do you know about anything? You're nothing but a dirty Muggle pretending to be a hero, as if real champions of light and justice actually exist! With that kind of grasp on reality, how dare you stand there and judge me?" Lyra opened her mouth to answer him, but Draco couldn't take it anymore. "I'm a Malfoy, dammit! I don't have to put up with this!" He turned and strode in the opposition direction as quickly as he could without actually fleeing.

A good memory for directions was a necessity for anyone who hoped to survive at Hogwarts, so Draco was able to find his way back to the Companions' Field without too much trouble. Orelia was there to greet him when he did. Throwing his arms around the Companion felt so natural that Draco didn't question it as he took comfort from Orelia's unwavering warmth. Orelia cared for him – a strange thought, perhaps, but Draco knew it was true.

_:Of course it's true, Chosen:_ Orelia said. _:You're mine, and I love you, no matter what you do. Even if you're tremendously rude to a pair of Trainees who only wanted to help you.:_

"Why should I care if I've been rude to them?" Draco demanded, ignoring the persistent voice whispering that it hadn't been their fault he was angry.

_:I'm sure you know that, dear:_ Orelia said calmly. _:I'm not here to shepherd you to conclusions.:_ She rubbed her nose against Draco's hair to soften her words. _:Lyra and Jemmie are quite nice, you know.:_

"Oh, I bet they are," Draco said sourly. "They probably help little old ladies across the street and rescue baby birds." He kicked viciously at the ground, uprooting chunks of grass. "You didn't mention when you rescued me that joining the side of the self-righteous was part of the deal."

_:I didn't have time to mention much of anything, if you recall:_ Orelia said irritably. _:Or did you expect me to begin a lengthy debate of good versus evil while those men were trying to murder you:_

"What does that have to do with anything?" Draco snapped. "I remember what that other Companion said – you didn't have to Choose me. You could have just gotten me out of there. Now I'm stuck here, surrounded by the kind of people I hate most! Why did you do this to me? With all the self-sacrificing, bleeding-heart lunatics in the world, why the hell did you pick me?"

_:You were the one I wanted:_ Orelia said simply.

"Is that supposed to make me guilty or something?" Draco said, lip curling. "Your wanting me isn't going to make me fit here any better. It won't magically make me into a different person. Face it – I'm not one of these people, and I never will be!"

_:You don't fit the conventional concept of a Herald, true:_ Orelia conceded. _:But that doesn't have to mean anything. Herald-Captain Kerowyn was a mercenary before she was Chosen, and Talia already told you about her friend Skif. You can start anew here, Draco. You can decide what you want to be.:_

"Oh, sure – as long as I decide I want to be a Herald!" Draco said angrily. "I can make any choice I like, as long as I choose according to your Choice. You want me to become a champion of the light? While you're at it, why not ask me to fly? It's about as likely!"

_:Especially if you're a wizard:_ Orelia agreed. _:Don't you have broomsticks:_

Draco glared at her. "Don't you dare twist my words around."

_:I'm not:_ Orelia said. _:I'm pointing out flaws in your argument.:_

"Stop it!" Draco shouted.

_:No:_ Orelia replied. _:You're at a crossroad in your life, Draco. There are so many directions you could go from here, can't you see? I'm just trying to make you understand.:_

"Understand what? That I should do a complete about-face and change my entire personality?" Draco snorted. "No, thank you!"

_:That you have so much unrealized potential within you:_ Orelia said earnestly. _:You're twisted up inside, Chosen, with what you feel warring with what you think and what you believe. Haven't you been feeling it, since the moment you came to this world? You could be someone else, but not someone new. You've always had these possibilities within you, but now you have the chance to set them free.:_

Draco stepped away from Orelia suspiciously. "What are you talking about?"

_:I can see it all in your head, Draco:_ Orelia told him. _:I knew all of this the moment I saw you. You could be a Herald – or you could be a Death Eater. You could go either way.:_

"No." Draco backed away further. "No, you're wrong. I don't want to be a Death Eater, but that doesn't make me one of you! If I had that in me I would have known it. I would have been a Gryffindor, one of Potter's minions. I'm a Malfoy, a Slytherin, a certified evil bastard – I don't belong here. I don't want to belong here!"

_:You're so sure that you know all the answers, aren't you, Draco:_ Orelia said gently. _:But suppose you don't. After all, what is the difference between an angel and a devil, save their choices:_

"Devils are evil," Draco said flatly. "They oppose the angels at every turn."

_:And how do they know to do that: _Orelia countered. _:The best of the evildoers know how to get inside the angels' heads. They understand them. They can see the forces of good in the world, but they make the decision not to follow those forces.:_

"Oh, that's a great argument," Draco sneered. "Except for one problem – I don't believe in your forces of good. Did you forget that? People who say they work for good are just too cowardly or too stupid to get ahead. Good and evil are just words. Power is real, not those abstractions."

_:Do you really believe that, Chosen:_ Orelia asked mockingly. _:Or did you just like the way it sounded when someone else said it:_

As Draco sputtered indignantly at this, Orelia continued. _:I know you believe in good, Draco, if only because you've spent so much time trying to thwart it. Haven't you always been drawn to the forces of good, in a roundabout way? Why spend so much time trying to hinder them, if they don't matter to you on some level:_

"I hated them!" Draco shouted. "Don't go trying to tell me I secretly wanted to be Harry Potter, because it damn well isn't true! I hated them all, and I wanted them to be in as much pain as I could give them!"

_:I know, Chosen:_ Orelia said. _:I know everything there is to know about you, good and bad both. Have you ever heard of knowing another person better than you can know yourself? Think of that now. I can understand you, Draco darling, because I'm _not_ you. I can see who you are, because it isn't who I am. Companions don't Choose wrongly. When we Search for our Heralds, we don't make mistakes. I know who you are, and I know where you can go, and I know that you can do this. You can become this.:_

"You're wrong," Draco said, but he was able to muster less confidence this time. "You have to be. That can't be part of me. If that's in me, then I'm not who I thought I was."

_:I would say that you aren't who you thought you had to be:_ Orelia corrected. _:You're on the right path already, Draco – you just got turned around in the wrong direction. You can see the goodness of the world, but you don't know how to touch it.:_ She looked at Draco pleadingly. _:Let me be your link to the beauty of the world. Let me help you walk your path.:_

Draco hesitated. He wanted to go with Orelia so much that it hurt, but he didn't quite dare. Agreeing with what she said would undermine everything he'd believed in his whole life. His father had always told him that to be noble was to be taken advantage of, that kindness was weakness cloaked in a pretty name. No matter how much he wanted to be with Orelia, what would happen when his father learned of this?

And then Draco realized that he was still thinking in terms of being able to return. But he couldn't go back, not to the way his life had been. He'd left that already, when he'd refused to become a Death Eater. No matter what he did here, he was already damned in Malfoy eyes.

So why not do what Orelia asked? Draco looked at her guardedly, remembering the glory of the moment when she'd Chosen him. She loved him unconditionally, in a way that Lucius and Narcissa never had. She would love him even if he decided to turn against the Heralds and take another path.

He still wasn't convinced she was right about his ability to become a Herald. He might fit a lot of categories, but the one of Good and Upstanding Citizen was not among them. But he had to find a new path to walk now that he'd left his old one, and this seemed as good a road as any. He could always reconsider when the Heralds found a way to send him home without hurting Orelia or himself. For now, he would stay with his Companion. He had nowhere else to go.


	4. Identities

The Dragon Herald

Author's Note: This is a crossover between Harry Potter and the Heralds of Valdemar. The story starts in the summer before Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts, and about eleven years after the mage storms in Valdemar (though I might be a year or two off on that part.)

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and ideas belong to J. K. Rowling, while all Valdemar characters and ideas belong to Mercedes Lackey. I own neither.

This story has been reposted without all those pesky Evil Quotes of Doom, in accordance with ffnet's new law.

**Chapter 4 – Identities**

"I'm still not sure why everyone is fussing so much over this new Trainee," Elspeth said, as the first of the meetings concerning Draco began. "Or rather, I don't see why you're focusing so much on his being Chosen, rather than his being from so far away we've never heard of his homeland. It isn't as though Companions Choose wrongly."

"We know that," Talia said unhappily. "But Draco doesn't, as far as I can tell. I didn't stay with him long enough to get a good sense of his emotional state – he took a disliking to Rolan, for some reason, and my bond with Rolan upset him."

"_Rolan_ upset him?" Teren, the Collegium Dean, asked in surprise. "How could he have? The boy can't be afraid of Companions, can he?"

"No, it wasn't fear," Talia said firmly. With her strong Empathic Gift, no one contradicted her. "He didn't trust me. I don't think he trusts much of anyone. Certainly he won't trust anyone here other than his own Companion."

"If he will trust her," Darkwind said thoughtfully. "It is possible that, if he doesn't fully understand the Heraldic bond, he might not realize how deeply his Companion – Orelia, I believe you said – cares for him."

"But he can feel it," Elspeth objected. "Surely he won't mistrust himself."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Talia warned. "He's confused, that much I know for certain." She sighed. "I wish he'd let me close enough to read him properly."

"Well, let's ask the person who did get that chance," Kerowyn said reasonably. She looked over at Lyra, who was sitting quietly with Jemmie. "What do you think, Lyra?"

Lyra frowned in concentration as she tried to remember. "Well… he was harder to read than I'm used to," she said slowly. Her Gift of Empathy wasn't as strong as Talia's was, though it was still her primary Gift. "Talia had it right when she said he was confused. First he was just furious, then after he went out to talk to his Companion, he wouldn't talk at all anymore. And it's harder to read someone when you keep on getting upset with him." She colored a little as she admitted that.

"I can imagine he upsset you," Treyvan said dryly. "Frrom what I ssaw of him, the boy sseemss mosst irrrational."

"Irrational doesn't cover half of it," Jemmie said feelingly. "He was going on and on about how he didn't like Heralds – except he kept calling us something else. It sounded like 'gryphons,' but it wasn't."

"Gryffindors," Lyra supplied. "I think they're a group of people from his homeland. And I don't think he got along with them very well. Just the thought that Heralds were similar to these Gryffindors made him angry."

"Yes, but everything made him angry," Jemmie said, exasperated. "He just kept getting crazier for no reason."

"Oh, he had reasons," Lyra said. "But his mind works differently than ours do, I think. I'm not a Mindspeaker, of course, and even if I were I couldn't say for certain unless I read all his thoughts, but that's part of what I think the problem is."

"But only part?" Kerowyn asked. "Let's hear the rest of it, then, before we go any further."

Lyra nodded. "He's hurting inside," she said simply. "It's hard to see – it took me a while to realize that was what I was sensing – but it's there. Or maybe wounded is a better way to describe it. Wounded, and then scarred. All his feelings are tangled up, really badly. If you just look at him as himself, you just see an angry, nasty boy – but if you look at him as the product of seventeen years of manipulation, you can see that there's more to it than that."

"So he's not as awful as he was acting?" Elspeth asked.

"Oh, no, he's pretty awful," Lyra said, grimacing. "I don't think that's ever going to change. Whatever messed him up, it happened so long ago that he'll never get rid of it. Plus I don't think he was a very nice person to begin with."

"But he was Chosen," Teren said. "He must have some redeeming qualities."

"I guess he does, somewhere," Lyra said doubtfully. "I mean, he has all the bases for them."

Selenay frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"He has all the right ideas," Lyra clarified. "He's just not applying them right. It's like…" She paused to think. "It's like he has a sense of justice, but instead of using it to protect the weak he uses it to manipulate systems to help himself, or to bring about an appropriate vengeance on people who he thinks have wronged him."

"He misuses power?" Elcarth asked, horrified. "But how could someone like that be Chosen?"

Lyra shook her head helplessly. "I don't know," she said. "I'm only telling you what I could sense, and what it might mean. And after all, I might not even be getting it right. I'm nowhere near as experienced at reading people as Talia is."

"You're doing just fine so far," Talia told her, smiling.

"I just wish I had better things to tell you," Lyra said. "I mean, he probably does misuse power, or he would if he had the chance. And he definitely had some issues about rank."

"I'll say," Jemmie muttered.

Lyra glanced at him, grinning briefly, before continuing. "I guess Draco could become a Herald, if he really wanted to – but I don't think he does. I don't understand his Companion's Choice, though I suppose it's not my job to understand it. I just don't think he'll make a very good Herald, and if anyone can figure out a way to send him back to his home without hurting him or his Companion, I think we ought to do it."

"Perhaps," Albereich, the Weaponsmaster, said thoughtfully. "But we must remember, not lightly do the Companions Choose. The boy Chosen has been, even if we do not like it. Surely his Companion had her reasons for this action."

"Gwena did say that the Companions as a group were trying to find a new kind of mage," Elspeth remembered. "That's why they snatched this boy from so far away."

"They feel the need for a new mage is that desperate?" Selenay asked, her brow creasing. "I don't like that at all, especially if there are so many doubts about the boy."

"Aren't you all being a little unfair to Draco?" Darren said. "He's hardly the first Herald to have a dark past. The important thing isn't who he was before he came here – it's who he's going to become. Draco has been Chosen. That means he can become a Herald. Lyra, you said you saw the potential within him."

"But it was only potential," Lyra said.

"Potential is important," Talia said with a small smile. "The way you've described Draco reminds me of another youngling I worked with once – a child who had also been twisted up mentally, to the point where everyone was convinced that it was impossible for her to be Chosen."

Everyone looked over at Elspeth. She smiled crookedly. "Yes, I was quite the Brat," she agreed. "And I like to think I turned out all right in spite of it."

"Can you compare the two of them, though?" Teren asked. "Talia got to Elspeth when she was young enough that her behavior hadn't become ingrained. Draco is much older, old enough that he should be able to make his own choices about how he acts. If he doesn't change of his own accord, even Talia's influence wouldn't matter."

"And why wouldn't he choose to change?" Darkwind asked. "If he's been Chosen, doesn't that mean he's the type of person who will so choose?"

"And that is the point we're trying to figure out," Elcarth said with a heavy sigh. "I've never heard of a Trainee refusing to become a Herald, but that seems to be what Draco wants to do. We can't force him into this, can we?"

"The situation has never come up," Myste said, with her authority as Herald-Chronicler. "For as far back as we have records, there has never been a Chosen who refused to become a Herald. We've had Chosen who didn't understand what it was a Herald did, or who had doubts about their own abilities, but never anyone who knew what being a Herald meant, and still didn't want to be trained."

"But does he know what it means to be a Herald?" Kerowyn asked, frowning. "Has anyone explained it properly to him? Or did you just tell him we're a group of do-gooders, and leave it at that?"

Lyra and Jemmie exchanged glances. "We didn't say anything," Lyra had to admit. "I didn't think we had to. He seemed to understand."

"Then before we make any kind of decision, someone should talk to Draco in detail about becoming a Herald, and find out exactly what he's thinking," Selenay decreed.

"I think Kerowyn would be the best choice," Talia suggested.

"Me?" Kerowyn raised her eyebrows. "If you're sure – but I warn you, I'm no good at comforting confused children."

"What Draco needs isn't comfort," Talia said. "I think you two will get along quite well."

Kerowyn shrugged. "All right, then."

"Good," Selenay said crisply. "Myste, I'd like you to search the Chronicles again, this time looking for more information on Trainees with particularly strong doubts about their qualifications to be Heralds." Myste nodded. "Elspeth, Darkwind, are you two planning to talk with Draco at some point?"

"I think we should," Elspeth said, glancing at Darkwind. "If he has any kind of magic, we should find out about it. Also, I'd like to see if I can figure out where it is the Companions brought him from." She paused. "I think we'd better wait until after he's talked to Kerowyn, though."

"That would probably be best," Selenay agreed. "All right, then. We can discuss this again tomorrow." She sighed. "I hope we have fewer worries by then."

……….

Draco sat on his bed glaring at his new uniform, willing it to change color. Grey. Why did it have to be grey? He hated grey. It looked so faded, so washed out. Black was infinitely better. It stood solidly at the very bottom of the color spectrum, with no drop of white mixed in for relief. Black knew exactly what it was – not like grey, hanging around in the middle of the color wheel, with every color mixed into it until even the brightest became dull. Grey was neither one thing nor the other.

If every other Trainee hadn't had the same uniform, Draco would have suspected that the Heralds were trying to tell him something.

He was just considering which charm would be best to alter the color of his uniform when a knock came at his door. He looked up, frowning suspiciously. Who would want to talk to him? It had better not be Lyra and Jemmie again. God, they were annoying.

When there came a second, more impatient knock, Draco got up, resigned to dealing with whoever-it-was. He opened the door. "What?"

It was a tall, blonde woman, dressed in dark grey leathers. Her arms were folded as she surveyed Draco critically. "So you're the newest Trainee."

"Don't be so sure," Draco said, scowling. "Who are you?"

"I'm Kerowyn," the woman said. "I'm the Herald-Captain and one of the Weapons Masters. The Queen asked me to talk to you and make sure you understand what the Heralds actually are."

"Thanks, but I've had the recruiting speech," Draco said. "I'm sure you have puppies to rescue or some crap like that, so why don't you get back to it? I already agreed to be a part of your stupid training program."

"It's not a recruiting speech," Kerowyn told him. "Heralds don't recruit. Either you are one, or you aren't. And if you got the impression that this conversation was optional, consider yourself corrected."

Draco shrugged. "Whatever. Go ahead, then."

Kerowyn snorted. "I'm not about to talk to you standing about in the hallway like this. Not all of us are as young as you. Go on, go in and sit down. This could take a while."

"Wonderful," Draco muttered, turning to go back into his room. He flopped down on the edge of his bed, while Kerowyn claimed the only chair in the room.

"Let's start with what you know about Heralds already," Kerowyn said. "What have you heard?"

"Enough," Draco said shortly.

"I'll need more than that," Kerowyn commanded impatiently. "I don't have all day. Out with it, boy."

"Don't call me 'boy,'" Draco snapped. "I'm a Malfoy, and I'll thank you to address me as one."

"Fine." Kerowyn rolled her eyes. "Draco, then. Now hurry up and get on with it."

"Okay. What I know about Heralds. Gosh, let's see." Draco cocked his head in a theatrical thinking pose. "Well, you wear all white, and you all live in a medieval-type castle with your Companions, and oh yes, I've just remembered, you're a giant lot of do-gooder, holier-than-thou, moralizing, pacifist heroes who'd be tossed into Gryffindor faster than a Weasley. Does that cover it? Why, my goodness, yes, I think it does. End of conversation, see you in class." He stood up.

Kerowyn grinned. "Not quite, Malfoy. Good try, though. I see why Talia thought I'd be a good match for you. Sit down again. I can see where we need to go from here."

Disconcerted at this reaction, Draco found himself obeying her. "So what are you going to say to try to convince me I'm wrong?" he asked challengingly.

"Well, you aren't, entirely," Kerowyn said. "There are some Heralds who are exactly what you just described. Personally, I can't stand them, and I'm damn glad the Queen keeps them out on the farther Circuits where they can't annoy too many people. You can't get anything done if you've always got the attitude of being better than everyone else, and that's what being a Herald really comes down to. Doing what has to be done."

"Oh, how wonderful," Draco said sourly, "a lecture on chivalry, nobility, and the glories of throwing yourself into danger without any concern for the consequences. Please, continue. I know I'm on the edge of my seat."

"You do like to take the negative view, don't you?" Kerowyn said, raising an eyebrow. "Most people don't get that jaded till they're twice your age."

"So I'm special," Draco said with a shrug. "I knew that already."

"So I see." Kerowyn smirked. "Well, there are certainly some Heralds you could call noble, but most of us don't get the luxury of chivalry, or of ignoring consequences. Doing what has to be done isn't the glorious tale the Bards would have you think. We don't act out of some kind of posturing nobility. We get things done because they need to be done, and because no one else will do them if we don't."

"So you're just a bunch of helpless ordinary folk, doing your best to help the world because no one else will bother?" Draco shook his head. "I knew you had a sales pitch in there somewhere. Sorry, but I can read between the lines on this one. When you do good just so you can go around making sure everyone knows about it, you don't get the karmic points."

Kerowyn frowned. "You do talk strangely, don't you? Never mind, I get the gist of it, and you couldn't have misinterpreted more. Our goal isn't to make ourselves look good. Most Valdemarans have very little idea what Heralds actually do. Even if they did know, I doubt they'd be impressed. There's more hard work to it than anything, and a lot of it is unpleasant as well. For every Herald triumphantly rescuing children from a burning house there are at least a hundred doing ordinary tasks like running messages or untangling local disputes."

Draco frowned, considering this in spite of himself. "So you're judges? Or just messengers for the judges?"

"Both, if need be," Kerowyn said with a shrug. "Heralds become whatever the Monarch needs them to be. Most of us go out riding Circuits through parts of Valdemar, dispensing justice and giving whatever aid we can to the people."

"Knights errant," Draco said, with a hint of a sneer.

"If you want to call them that, you can," Kerowyn said. "Names don't matter, not when it comes down to it. After all, if we're going by names, a Herald is just a glorified messenger. You can call the job anything you like, so long as you get it done."

"Such a wonderful philosophy," Draco drawled. He found himself unable to muster quite as much indifference as he usually could with that tone, but he blamed it on the new environment. After all, he couldn't be expected to be both indifferent and alert to possible threats, could he?

"Isn't it?" Kerowyn agreed, as if Draco had been perfectly sincere in his reply to her. "That's always been one of the things I appreciated most about Heralds. They get things done, without whining too much about it. Doing what has to be done isn't pleasant or easy."

Draco started to speak, but the memory of his father made him pause. Doing what has to be done… wasn't that what he'd done when he'd told his father that he wouldn't become a Death Eater? "Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, I'll give you that one."

"Then you know that it can get pretty nasty sometimes," Kerowyn said. "Being a Herald isn't a pretty job, and it isn't for the faint of heart. We defend the people of Valdemar, whatever the cost. Sometimes we've had to do some fairly terrible things – sabotage, subterfuge, even assassination. We'll use any means available. We may not like it, but we'll do it."

"Any means…" A vague snatch of music floated into Draco's consciousness. "Any means to achieve their ends."

"Exactly," Kerowyn said. "Not everyone would put it the same way, mind you, but that's how I see it. And believe me, it took quite a lot of convincing to make me believe I could be a Herald."

"Really?" Draco frowned. Actually, he could see that. Her arguments were awfully concise to have been thought up spur of the moment.

"Well, you've probably heard I used to be a mercenary," Kerowyn said wryly. "And someone who fights for money is just about as different from a Herald as can be. Now granted, I did try to fight for good causes, as well as I could, but I'm not sure it made much difference. My loyalty was to my fighters, to keep them safe. They depended on me to make sure they got through the battles safely."

"Yeah, yeah, and then you realized the whole Kingdom was just like your band of fighters," Draco said impatiently. "I see where you're going with it."

"Oh, no, you don't," Kerowyn said. "Don't go interrupting me, lad, unless you're sure that what you're about to say is more valuable than what I'm trying to tell you. I was aiming at the switch of loyalties, true, but it isn't as clear-cut as you described. When you trade loyalty to individuals for loyalty to a higher cause, there's a feeling of betrayal to those you're leaving behind. It's inevitable, if you cared for them at all, and for some people it never fades."

"Then why bother?" Draco asked. "If it's going to hurt, it can't be worth it to go through all that just to become a Herald."

"I never said it wasn't worth it," Kerowyn said. "It is, if you're the type of person to get Chosen. Heralds leave behind everything – homes, businesses, parents, children – because they don't have it in them to deny that loyalty. It's like a need that was always there, but was never realized until their Companions came for them. Once they understood what it was they were feeling, they knew they had to go, no matter how much it hurt them and their loved ones."

"And no one's ever tried to turn back?" Draco asked skeptically. "Not one person, in all your Kingdom's history?"

"You'd have to ask our Herald-Chronicler about that," Kerowyn said with a shrug. "But I do know that Companions don't Choose wrongly. Everyone who gets Chosen becomes a Herald. It's because being Chosen isn't a choice made by the Heralds. I don't know how, but the Companions know who has the potential to become a Herald."

"And I'm the first who's ever had any questions about it," Draco said, bored with the repetition. "You mentioned."

"Oh, you're not the first who's had questions," Kerowyn said dismissively. "We've all wondered, at one time or another. You're just the first one where we thought those questions needed such dramatic answers."

"I excel at causing drama," Draco said with a smirk.

"I've noticed." Kerowyn grinned. "Just when the Circle needed to get stirred up a bit, too." She sobered. "Listen, Draco, I don't know that I'm the best judge, but I think you could be a real Herald, if you tried. Most people wouldn't have gotten a lot of what I said to you, or would have disagreed or tried to correct me. You've got the principles, and you understand them, and that's more than ordinary people can manage. Granted, you're different enough that people might not like you much, but I think being popular is highly overrated. I'm not supposed to be giving you advice, but I think you could become one of the best Heralds in the Kingdom, given the chance."

Draco stared at Kerowyn. Her words were so similar to Orelia's that it was frightening. These two women thought he had the potential to become something vastly different from who he knew he was, yet they barely knew him. How could they think that? Why did they think that? He'd never come across anyone who thought like that before. Was it just that they wanted to see this potential in him? But no, why should it matter to them whether it was there or not? All they had to say was that he wasn't worthy, and their Circle would be rid of him.

"I think you're crazy," Draco said, closing his eyes. "You, and Orelia, and every single person in this whole fucked-up country. Wanting me to become some kind of hero – you're madder than a Fwooper breeder."

"Oh, naturally," Kerowyn said, laughing. "I think all Heralds are a little mad. It's probably one of those mysterious requirements the Companions look for. You need a touch of madness, to survive in this job."

"Yeah." Draco sighed. "Look, whatever, okay? I already said I'd go to those classes, and it's not like I have anywhere else to go anyway, so I don't know why you wasted your time lecturing me. Go out and get on with your dragon slaying, or whatever it is you do."

"If you insist." Kerowyn smiled faintly. "I'll see you in the salle, Draco Malfoy. I look forward to it."

When Draco pointedly ignored her, Kerowyn's smile quirked into a grin, and she left.


	5. Lies

The Dragon Herald

Author's Note: This is a crossover between Harry Potter and the Heralds of Valdemar. The story starts in the summer before Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts, and about eleven years after the mage storms in Valdemar (though I might be a year or two off on that part.)

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and ideas belong to J. K. Rowling, while all Valdemar characters and ideas belong to Mercedes Lackey. I own neither.

This story has been reposted without all those pesky Evil Quotes of Doom, in accordance with ffnet's new law.

**Chapter 5 – Lies **

For all their insistence that he attend their classes, the Heralds seemed rather intent on keeping Draco out of them. He'd just decided to try to find his way to his first class when a page had shown up at his door, with a request that he go to meet with the mages from this world. Draco had figured that showing off his magical skills would be more entertaining than being lectured about the geography of the Lake Evendim region, whatever that was, so he'd gone ahead and followed the page.

After far too many twists and turns for Draco's liking, they emerged at the Companions' Field. "Just go across to the other end, sir," the page said, bowing slightly. "Mi'lords and mi'ladies are waiting for you there." Bobbing up and down again, the page hurried back inside.

As Draco began making his way across the Field, Orelia came trotting up. _:Adjusting well, dearest:_ she asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "What do you think?"

Had she been human, Orelia surely would have smirked. _:I think that as long as you can manage sarcastic comments, you're doing just fine. I don't intend to worry about you unless you start spouting some blather about kindness making the world go round.:_

"You've got that right, at least," Draco said, frowning slightly. He shook his head, trying to clear it. "So where are we going, exactly?"

_:Oh, the other end of the Field:_ Orelia said lightly. _:A lovely place, really. I'm sure you'll quite like it.:_

"Yeah?" Draco rubbed absently at his temples. "It isn't far off, is it? I mean, it's not like this Field can be all that big, right?"

_:You'd be surprised, Chosen:_ Orelia replied. As Draco's shoulders began visibly tensing, she gave him a concerned look. _:Are you feeling all right, Draco? If you aren't, I'm sure this can wait a day or two. Some people react badly to Gates, though I would have expected you to respond earlier.:_

"It's not that Gate thing," Draco said, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "It's just this really weird feeling, like a pressure across my head. I wish it would stop."

_:Hmm.:_ Orelia gave Draco a piercing look. _:Well, lean on me, darling, and I'll see if I can't help you a bit.:_

Though dubious about what exactly she would be able to do, Draco draped one arm over Orelia's back so that he could press against her as he walked. Even if she couldn't help with the pressure, and the buzzing that was beginning to echo in his ears, the physical contact was comforting.

As they walked for several minutes, with no end of the Field in sight, Draco started to wonder whether he ought to be insulted that the Heralds were making him go so far away from the Collegium to demonstrate his magic. Were they just assuming that he wouldn't be able to control his power? Or did they think he'd decide to express his unhappiness at being stuck here in the traditional Malfoy manner of blowing to pieces anything that got in his path?

It wasn't that Draco objected to practicing magic at a distance from his new living area, of course. Actually, he thought it was a rather sensible idea, something that he probably would have suggested himself, had he been consulted. On the off-chance that one of the Heralds should do something stupid to interfere with one of his spells, the results would be much less catastrophic in an area with fewer people and objects. It was that, in his experience, the average heroic type was not especially concerned with what was sensible. Any actions they took that appeared to be rational were generally flukes.

_:So cynical:_ Orelia said, amused. _:Do you enjoy thinking the worst of everyone:_

"It saves time later on," Draco said, shrugging. He moved his head experimentally. "Hey, my head doesn't hurt anymore!"

_:I told you I'd help:_ Orelia said smugly. _:There isn't much a Companion can't do.:_

"Really?" Draco filed that knowledge away for later consideration. "I don't suppose you can get me to wherever we're going any faster?"

_:Of course:_ Orelia replied. _:You could ride, if all this walking is really getting hard on you. But it honestly isn't much further. You should be able to see it soon.:_

"I could see it now, and not know it," Draco pointed out. "What am I looking for?"

_:You'll know:_ Orelia promised. _:Look to your left, as we round these trees.:_

Impatiently, Draco peered ahead as they turned. His eyebrows shot up as he finally saw their destination. A giant greenhouse was not what he would have chosen as the ideal place to perform magic. When spells went out of control, windows got broken. A building made of glass seemed to be asking for trouble.

_:There are all kinds of spells strengthening the glass:_ Orelia assured him. _:You needn't worry it will break. And the plants give it support, as well.:_

Draco shook his head, eyeing the enormous plants that wove patterns over the glass walls. "It still looks pretty unsafe," he said dubiously.

_:It isn't: _Orelia told him. _:It's served us well for more than ten years now, and it's stronger than ever.:_

"Well, as long as I don't get stuck with the blame when it shatters," Draco said with a shrug. "What do I care where your wizards decide to play with spells?"

To Draco's mild surprise, Orelia followed him into the building. But then, this was the _Companions'_ Field, wasn't it? Why shouldn't she be able to go into the buildings in the Field?

"Hello, Draco. I'm glad to see you made it in one piece."

Draco eyed the woman who had spoken as she approached him, and the group behind her. "You're the people who came to see me right when I got here."

"Quite right," the woman said briskly. "I'm Elspeth, and that's Darkwind. This," she indicated a man Draco hadn't met yet, "is Dirk, Talia's husband. The Companions are Dirk's Ahrodie and my Gwena. And I'm certain you remember Treyvan."

"Be a bit hard to forget him," Draco said, making sure there was a decent distance between the gryphon and himself. He'd had too many bad experiences in Care of Magical Creatures to want to take any risks, no matter how intelligent the creature appeared to be.

"Yes." Elspeth smiled briefly. "Well, Treyvan, Darkwind, and I are mages, and we'd like to take a look at your methods of spell casting, compared to ours. Dirk is an expert in Gifts, or mind magic, if you'd rather call them that, and when we're through he'll test you to see which ones you have."

"Though I shouldn't have to do too much testing," Dirk said with a grin. "At least, not for Mindspeech. You've been picking up quite a lot with that Gift already, from what Talia told me."

"I guess," Draco said noncommittally. He pulled out his wand. "So what kind of magic do you want to see?"

"Whatever you think would be a good demonstration of your power," Darkwind said. "To be honest, Draco, from the view of our magic you really shouldn't be able to cast spells at all. You don't have any of the Mage Gift. Why don't you show us what you're best at, and we'll go from there."

Draco shrugged. What he was best at would normally mean fairly Dark spells and so on, but somehow he got the idea that cursing these people wouldn't go over too well. They looked like a fairly formidable group, especially that gryphon. He thought for a moment, trying to come up with something a little closer to being of the light.

On the basis that Transfiguration was always impressive, Draco decided on a Vanishing Spell. He pointed his wand at a clay pot, which still had damp earth clinging to it from the plant that had presumably just been transplanted from it. "_Evanesco_!"

The pot disappeared – not that Draco had expected it to do anything else, of course. Vanishing Spells were from two years ago, after all. "So was that good enough, or do you need me to do something else?" he asked, looking over at the others. He frowned, seeing their expressions. He couldn't read the gryphon's face, but the three humans looked as though they'd been hit on the back of their heads with a board. "What?"

Instead of answering him, Elspeth stooped down to peer at the area where the pot had been. Frowning, she waved a hand through the empty air. "It _is_ gone!" she said, stunned. "It didn't look like an illusion, but – but it doesn't make any sense!" She turned to Draco. "There's nothing left, not even dust! How did you destroy it so completely?"

"What are you babbling about?" Draco asked, bewildered. "I didn't destroy it; I Vanished it. It'll come back in a few days."

"On its own?" Darkwind asked. "How can it? Or do you mean you'll cast another spell then?"

"No, I mean it'll just come back," Draco said impatiently. "We don't learn how to call back Vanished things till seventh year."

"So you just sent it somewhere else?" Elspeth asked, her brow furrowing. "But there were no Gate energies."

"Therre werren't _any_ enerrgiess," Treyvan said. "He did magic without leyliness, nodess, or even perssonal sstorress of enerrgy." He eyed Draco thoughtfully. "Arre you awarre that what you have jusst done ought to have been imposssible?"

"I got that from your reaction," Draco said. "I don't see why, though. Leylines and nodes aren't even real. They're just dumb ideas that a bunch of Muggles came up with while gawking at Stonehenge."

"On the contrary, they're quite real," Darkwind said. "They provide the power we use to perform magic. But like rivers powering a watermill, the spells based on that power follow a particular structure and obey its rules. For example, matter can be neither created nor destroyed. In light of that, how did you manage to destroy that pot?"

"I told you, it isn't destroyed!" Draco snapped. "It's somewhere else, that's all. Can't you do it?"

"Not the way you did," Elspeth said forthrightly. "I don't think any mage I've ever heard of could." She frowned thoughtfully. "Does all of your magic work that way?"

"None of it uses those nodes you keep going on about, if that's what you mean," Draco said. "So how do you do spells, if you don't have wands?" He frowned, a thought occurring to him. "Oh, God, you don't chant, do you? I've heard about cults that do that."

"We chant sometimes," Darkwind admitted. "Mostly it's just a manipulation of energies. Magic is really only another type of science, the way we work with it."

"Really?" Draco wrinkled his nose. "Science is so… inelegant. Not to mention undependable. I've heard it doesn't work properly around magic, anyway."

Elspeth and Darkwind exchanged glances. "We've never come across that problem," Elspeth said. "In fact, our spells depend on scientific rules. I can't see how yours flouted them."

"Does it matter?" Draco asked impatiently. "I know how to do these spells; that's what counts. I know a lot more than Vanishing, too. I can do normal Transfiguration, all manner of Charms, Potions if I have the ingredients, and lots of dueling spells."

"Transfiguration?" Darkwind asked, alarmed. "You mean shapeshifting?"

"That's the idea," Draco said. "I can't change my own shape, but I change other things around. We were going to start Transfiguring people this year."

"That's awful!" Elspeth said in horror.

"Yeah, it is," Draco agreed, recalling his only experience with human Transfiguration. "Pity we don't learn the permanent sort till the very end of the class, though. There are some people I wouldn't mind leaving with tokens of my affection."

"Is your training incomplete, then?" Darkwind asked, worried. "Because while I don't like the idea of having an untrained mage roaming Haven, I don't see how we can train you, since your magic is so different from ours."

Draco looked down. There it was – another reminder that he couldn't go home again. He shrugged, telling himself to dismiss it from his mind for now. "It doesn't matter. I know enough to get by. My parents taught me a lot before I left for school," he added, when the other mages continued to look doubtful.

"We'll have to test your control to make sure of that," Elspeth said firmly. "We might put you in one of the normal mage courses anyway, just to make sure you're trained. The principles can't be _that_ different, no matter how odd your methods are."

"Oh, good, more classes," Draco said with mock-cheerfulness. "That's exactly what I wanted. However can I thank you?"

"You can stop with that sarcasm," Elspeth scolded, though the corners of her mouth quirked a bit. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that it's the lowest form of humor?"

Draco snorted. "The only people who say that are the ones who suffer from it a lot."

"A point," Darkwind said, grinning. "One that we can explore in greater detail later, if you wish. For now, there are still many things that I, at least, feel we need to discuss with Draco."

"Right." Elspeth nodded. "Let's get on with it, then."

……….

"That was quite an impressive display of magic."

Draco looked over at Dirk. "It was meant to be," he said, shrugging. Elspeth, Darkwind, and Treyvan had left after finishing discussing Draco's magic, leaving him alone with the other Herald.

"Yes, I'm sure," Dirk said cheerfully. "We've had mages running around Haven for years now, and one of the first to come was one of the most flamboyant people I've ever met."

"Good for him," Draco snapped impatiently. "Weren't you supposed to be telling me about that other kind of magic?"

"I thought you could use a break, after all those spells," Dirk replied. "Still, if you think you're ready, we can certainly get on with it."

"Do so," Draco ordered.

"Right," Dirk said. "Well, Heralds have one or more of a group of Gifts. The mages call them mind magic, but the name doesn't matter. They're things like Mindspeaking, Empathy, Foresight, Fetching, and so on. Like I said before, your primary Gift seems to be receptive Mindspeech, though you'll probably have a few lesser Gifts, too."

"So what are they?" Draco asked curiously.

"Oh, we can't tell yet," Dirk said. "There's really no way to know till they start manifesting themselves. When they do, Orelia will let you know, and my Ahrodie will tell me. But that's for later. What we need to deal with now is that Mindspeech."

"What are you going to do?" Draco asked suspiciously. He didn't like the sound of anything inside his head being "dealt with."

"Train you in how to use it, and in the ethics of its use," Dirk said promptly. "There's a class on Mindspeech that you'll go into, once you get caught up with them. I'll be helping you there – I work with training Gifts a lot, and Mindspeech is one of the easier Gifts to deal with."

"Are we going to do that now?" Draco asked.

Dirk laughed. "Hardly. It'll take us a few weeks at least. All I'm going to do today is see how much you've been doing naturally. Most people with Mindspeech put up some kinds of instinctive shields, so that they don't go crazy from all the thoughts around them. Your training will take those shields down, and replace them with more effective ones, of course."

"So how are you going to test these shields?" Draco wanted to know. "You aren't going to stick anything in my head, are you? Because if you try I'll curse you before you can blink."

"Oh, it's nothing like that," Dirk assured him. "If you give me permission, I'll just probe your mind until a shield stops me."

"Why do you need my permission?" Draco asked, immediately wary. "Is it dangerous? It won't hurt, will it?"

"It shouldn't," Dirk replied. "But we don't probe a person's mind like this without their permission. It's just wrong – an invasion of their right to their own thoughts!"

Draco sniffed. "Typical moralistic logic," was his opinion. "What's the point of not using power, if you have it?"

"The point is that it's wrong," Dirk said, frowning. "You can't mean that you'd use your Gift to take advantage of people."

"Why shouldn't I?" Draco said, shrugging. "Anyone else would do the same if the tables were turned."

"Now that's not true!" Dirk said indignantly. "Heralds don't do things like that, and we aren't the only ones, either! People aren't that selfish."

"Oh, no?" Draco shook his head. "You're pretty old to have that kind of delusion. People will do whatever they have to in order to get what they want, even if it means walking all over someone else's dreams. Maybe even especially then."

Dirk stared at Draco in horrified disbelief, much like a British wizard might stare at some unfortunate soul who'd gotten Splinched. "Gods – they told me you were different, but I didn't think it could be this bad!"

Draco stepped back, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under the Herald's gaze. "Yeah, well, it's not like I didn't warn you when I got here. I never said I was cut out to be one of your heroes."

"That wasn't what I meant," Dirk said hastily. "It's just – it's sad. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Draco said, shrugging. "I'm not."

"Aren't you?" Dirk asked quietly. He shook his head. "No, don't answer. Look, we aren't going to get anywhere with this. Do I have your permission to try a probe?"

Draco hesitated. On one hand, he had serious doubts about letting someone he'd known for less than an hour poke around inside his head. But on the other hand, he was fairly sure Orelia would have let him know if this was something he should worry about. And after all, Dirk was a Herald, and thus disgustingly honorable.

"I guess so," Draco said reluctantly. "What do I have to do?"

"You don't need to do anything," Dirk assured him. "Just relax. I'll be doing all the work."

That suited Draco just fine. He looked around for a moment, but chose to remain standing, rather than try one of the strange-looking chairs carved from rock.

"Like I said, this shouldn't hurt," Dirk explained. "The easiest way for beginners to understand is to compare a mind probe to a mental hand reaching out for your hand. You'll feel the touch of my mind, but your own mental shields should prevent any kind of exchange of thoughts, unless one of us takes the connection deeper than I intend to. Are you ready?"

"I've been ready since before you started your speech," Draco informed him. "Stop telling me about it and just get it over with."

Dirk nodded, and a small frown of concentration creased his face. Draco studied the older man suspiciously, waiting for this mental touch he was supposed to experience. He didn't feel anything in particular yet. How long was it supposed to –

_– pressure – pain – dark – _

Draco gasped as something seized his mind, flooding it with a sense of otherness, of something, someone else, strange and powerful and awful. It hurt, oh God it hurt, it wasn't supposed to hurt –

_ – dark – deep all-consuming – pain – screaming –_

Draco heard screaming, but only one of the voices was his own. The others were howling in a place where only he could hear, echoing in the dark within his head. The screams mingled with the pain, until there was nothing else left for him to feel –

_ – horror – agony – terror – darkness – pain pain PAIN –_

– And then there was light. Cool blue light surrounded Draco, separating him from the darkness and the screaming, showing him the way to come back to himself again. The light wove a pattern against the dark, a shield to protect him always. Draco had always considered light to be too harsh, too blinding to be beautiful, but this light had a calm beauty that enchanted him. He opened his eyes.

Orelia was there, her head hovering above him. This gave Draco a moment of vertigo before he realized that he was now lying flat on his back. "What – " he started, but a fit of coughing cut him off. His throat was too raw for speech, and each cough was like sandpaper.

_:Thank the gods:_ Orelia said, with indescribable relief. _:Oh, Chosen, I swear I had no idea that was going to happen. I'm so sorry I didn't realize sooner. I should have known – I will know, next time.:_

"You're awake! Good!" Dirk heaved a heavy sigh of relief. "Oh, _good_. I was afraid you might have gone into a coma. I think that's happened once or twice in this situation."

Draco stared at Orelia and Dirk in confusion, though he didn't risk talking again. What were they going on about? What situation?

Dirk must have seen the bewilderment on Draco's face, because he went on to explain. "You collapsed, Draco. You were overwhelmed by receiving thoughts. When I touched your mind, it triggered your abilities, and you couldn't handle it." He shook his head. "I doubt anyone could have."

Draco's eyes darted from Dirk to Orelia in confusion. He'd collapsed, he could have figured that out for himself – what he wasn't sure about was why it had happened. Hadn't he already been receiving thoughts?

"It looks like I made a mistake in how to test your abilities," Dirk said. "I'm sorry. It was just so unexpected. This situation doesn't come up very often." He took a moment to collect his thoughts. "Draco… you remember that I said I was searching for your natural shields? Well, as it turns out, you don't have any. My probe went far deeper than I ever intended, and it caused your powers to go out of control."

Draco rolled his eyes. Yes, he'd noticed that, too. He really hoped that Dirk wasn't the best teacher the Heralds had to offer, because if that were the case they'd be in some serious trouble. Maybe he didn't even want this Mindspeech trained, if it was going to hurt that way.

_:Don't think about it that way, love:_ Orelia said hastily. _:It wasn't Dirk's fault. If it was anyone's, it was mine. I've been in your head already – I should have realized you didn't have any shields.:_ She nuzzled his forehead sympathetically. _:I know it hurts, darling, but a Healer is already on the way to help you.:_

Draco nodded. Well, he should hope they'd sent for some kind of doctor! Besides his torn-up throat, he ached all over from when he'd hit the ground. He stifled a yawn. Why was he so exhausted all of a sudden?

"You should try to sleep, if you can," Dirk advised, seeing the yawn. "You used up most of your energy in that burst of mindmagic. Orelia and I will get you back to your room after the Healer takes a look at you. She'll probably leave some sort of tea for you to drink when you wake up, to help with your throat."

Draco nodded slightly, though he didn't want to go to sleep. He wanted to know more about why he'd collapsed… but he was so tired. He closed his eyes, figuring that just a few seconds couldn't hurt... and he was asleep almost immediately.

………

Waking up was not a pleasant experience for Draco. He'd still ached, even though he was in his bed at the Collegium rather than on the grass of the greenhouse, and his throat was still terribly sore. The tea and balm the Healer had left for him, along with food to help him rebuild his strength, had helped a little, but like all Muggle medicines, they needed to work over time. Draco really wished that he'd spent a little more time learning useful spells like Healing Charms and less time learning illegal curses.

Looking out his window, Draco figured it had to be around early evening. He'd slept through the entire day. Well, that was nice, since it put off his classes for one more day, but it also meant that he was fairly bored now that he was awake.

Well, it wasn't too late for a short walk. Draco decided to try looking around the Collegium on his own, since he had no intention of going right back to sleep. The library seemed like as good a destination as any, so he picked the direction he thought he remembered Lyra and Jemmie saying it was and headed off.

Fairly quickly, Draco realized that this was probably not, in fact, the way to the library. He supposed that was what he got for only listening to directions, rather than insisting that his guides actually show him the way to get there. After a few extra twists when he tried to retrace his path, Draco had to admit that he was pretty thoroughly lost.

"Orelia?" Draco asked, feeling a little strange talking to thin air, but still certain that she'd be able to hear him. "How do I get to the library from here?"

_:Umm.:_ Orelia considered it for a moment. _:I think you want to turn around, then take your third left. But I'm not sure.:_

It turned out that by "I'm not sure," Orelia had meant that she had no more idea than Draco had. _:I'm sorry, Chosen:_ she said sheepishly. _:I'm afraid directions have never been my strong point.:_

"And you didn't think to mention this _before_ you sent me wandering all over?" Draco asked, sighing. "Great. So we're both lost."

_:Well, I don't really go inside the Collegium very often:_ Orelia said defensively. _:Anyway, I'm sure if you keep going, you'll hit somewhere that one of us recognizes eventually.:_

Draco rolled his eyes, but he didn't really see any other choice. The whole Collegium was built like a bloody maze. It was enough to make him wonder if someone had actually been intelligent enough to design the place defensively. The bewildering corridors would certainly be as difficult for an invading army as they were for him.

"Heyla, Draco."

Draco spun around, startled at the unfamiliar voice. A young man stood there with a cheerful smile. "Do I know you?" Draco demanded suspiciously.

"No, but I know you," the young man – a Trainee, by his uniform – replied. "You're the only Trainee I don't recognize who fits the description of the newest addition to our ranks. It's nice to meet you, Draco. I'm Kris."

"Kris," Draco repeated, frowning. There was something familiar about the young man – something in his face. Maybe it was the pair of sharp hazel eyes under the mass of wavy blond hair, or the knowing twist to the smile… whatever it was, Draco couldn't place it. He gave himself a mental shake. This was not the time to go staring at strange boys. He might give an impression of himself that he would later regret. "So what do you want?" he asked, before Kris could wonder if he'd been staring.

"Do I have to want something?" Kris asked with a shrug. "I was just passing through, and I recognized you as the new Trainee. I figured you might want directions or something."

"Why would you think that?" Draco asked, curling his lip in a defensive sneer.

"Because you're right by the administrative sector of the Palace," Kris informed him, grinning. "New Trainees don't come here unless they're lost. Nice try with the snootiness, though. Lyra said you had the sneering down pat."

Draco's eyes narrowed. So Kris had heard about him from Lyra? He could just guess what the princess had had to say about him. "You've talked with her about me?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral until he could ascertain just what rumors the girl was spreading about him.

Kris saw through his pretense. "Don't like that, do you?" he asked. "Well, I can't say I blame you. Having the whole Collegium talking about you isn't fun. Don't worry, though – she didn't talk to too many people."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Draco muttered.

Kris shrugged again. "Suit yourself," he said. "So where are you heading?"

"The library," Draco said reluctantly. He didn't like having to get directions, but it was better than wandering around the Collegium all night. "How do I get there?"

"It'll stick better if I walk with you," Kris told him. "Come on, follow me." He headed off down the corridor. "So how are you liking the Collegium?"

"It's disgusting," Draco said irritably. "Everyone is so nice and cheerful and kind I think I may be sick before the week is out." He frowned. "Except Kerowyn. She was bearable. You should have more people like her around."

Kris laughed. "You like Kerowyn, but you don't like Lyra and Jemmie? For most people it's the other way around. I think Lyra was a little hurt that you didn't love her on sight."

Draco rolled his eyes. "What do I care what she thinks?"

"No, I think it's a good thing," Kris assured him. "I'll bet she was pretty condescending to you, right? Gods, I hate it when she acts that way. It makes me want to slap her."

"You seem to know her pretty well," Draco said, frowning.

"Well, yeah," Kris said, blinking. "She's my twin sister. You didn't know?"

And suddenly Kris's features snapped into focus. Hair and eye color aside, his face and build were extremely similar to Lyra's. He resembled Elspeth as well, though to a lesser extent.

"No," Draco said faintly. "No, I didn't know that. So royalty here just wanders around where any assassin or kidnapper could get at them?"

"Not quite," Kris said. "I mean, we're in a Collegium full of Heralds and Trainees. Even if someone could get this far in, the moment he attacked, my Corwyn would send an alarm to all the other Companions, who'd tell their Chosen. I'd have help in a matter of moments."

Draco nodded with grudging approval. "And you can hold attackers off till then?"

"That's what we all learn in weapons training, with Kerowyn and Albereich," Kris said.

"Yeah?" Draco tried to pretend he wasn't interested in that style of fighting. "So you spend a lot of time fighting, then? I suppose it's hard to learn?"

"Definitely," Kris agreed. "But if it saves my life, it'll be worth every bruise and ache." He grinned. "Looking forward to weapons training, huh? I guess you've never fought before."

"Not that way," Draco had to admit. "I've been in wizard duels, though," he added quickly.

"Wizard duels? That's right, Elspeth was going on about you being some strange kind of mage," Kris said, frowning. "You've survived duels? You must be really good, then. Most mages our age avoid duels."

"And they practice on pillows, do they?" Draco scoffed. "That never works properly. I'm not stupid; I've never been in a duel to the death. The only teenager I know with that particular brand of recklessness is Saint Potter."

"I'm guessing you aren't a fan of this Potter, then?" Kris said wryly, noting Draco's heavy sarcasm.

"Hardly," Draco said, his bitterness about Harry Potter taking over. "The Heralds here may be bad, but they've got nothing on Perfect Potter. He's the ultimate hero – force over skill, instinct over logic, reflex over thought. Everyone adores him, and no one sees that all he has is luck, pure dumb luck that lets him survive at the expense of the people around him. But one day they'll see – his luck will run out, and he'll finally die, and it'll bloody well serve him right. No one's that perfect. No one can be, not even him."

"I didn't mean to touch a nerve," Kris said, startled by Draco's outburst. "You must really hate this person."

"Yeah," Draco said quietly. If there had been one constant in his life since starting Hogwarts, it was his hatred of Harry Potter. It was strangely unsettling to realize that he was now in a land where Potter's fame had yet to spread. He was here… yet Harry wasn't. "Yeah, I hate him, all right."

"Well, you don't need to worry about him anymore," Kris reminded him. "After all, it's not like you're ever going to see him again."


End file.
